


Four's a Crowd

by Essie_Cat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Belly Rubs, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Chubby Draco Malfoy, Chubby Kink, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Teasing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27635099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Essie_Cat/pseuds/Essie_Cat
Summary: Draco has certainly not gained any weight, no matter what Harry and his sceptical eyebrows might believe. Unfortunately, his ex-wife, his ex-boyfriend and his wardrobe don’t seem to agree with him.(In which Harry’s a great cook, Astoria and Theodore are full of sass, and Draco is at the dinner party from hell.)
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, past Draco/Astoria, past Theodore/Draco
Comments: 12
Kudos: 161





	Four's a Crowd

**Author's Note:**

> This fic spends a self-indulgent amount of time chronicling Draco’s struggles with an ill-fitting waistcoat, so if that doesn't sound like your sort of thing, maybe give this one a miss. But if you're on board with that, then I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Disclaimer: JKR’s opinions are terrible, I just enjoy borrowing her characters (and making all of them chubby and queer, which I’m sure she wouldn't approve of).

“Draco, you know I love you…” Harry began, which was definitely a bad sign. Draco narrowed his eyes, suspicious, waiting for the confession of whatever Harry had done wrong.

“Yes?” he prompted, hands on his hips, raising a pale eyebrow in anticipation of disapproval.

In a rush, Harry said, “Are those the robes you’re planning to wear tonight?” 

Draco bristled. He looked down at himself, smoothing the fabric unnecessarily over his chest. “Is there a problem with them?”

“Not at all,” Harry said quickly. “You look great. Obviously. You always look great. It’s just…”

“Yes, Potter?”

He immediately wished he hadn’t called him Potter. He only called him Potter when he was pouting, and Harry knew this perfectly well. Harry smirked, then quickly tried to suppress it as Draco’s nostrils flared and his eyebrows flew skywards. 

With the air of a man who knows full well he is paddling in dangerous waters, Harry asked, “Didn’t you buy some new ones? I thought you had an appointment in Diagon Alley last week?”

“They haven’t arrived yet,” he said, which was true, but also completely irrelevant, as there was no issue with the robes currently on his person. 

Because Harry was the least subtle human being ever to walk the face of the earth, his hands settled on the widest part of Draco’s waist. Which was, admittedly, somewhat wider than it once had been. And, yes, perhaps the material was somewhat more strained in that area than the tailor had intended when Draco had first been fitted for them. Which hadn’t been _that_ long ago. 

“Spit it out, then,” Draco said, as menacingly as was appropriate for the occasion.

Harry tried, “They don’t look very comfortable, love. That’s all.”

“Thank you for your concern, but they are perfectly comfortable, I assure you.”

“Are you sucking your stomach in?”

_“No.”_

Harry nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching, as if he was trying to suppress a smile. “All right then.” 

He gave Draco’s belly a gentle pat. Not that he had a _belly._ The lower part of his torso was just a little more padded than it used to be, when looked upon from certain angles, in certain unflattering lights. But that wasn’t the same thing at all. 

Draco’s infuriating boyfriend continued, “Well, you’ll look amazing whatever you wear.”

“Do be quiet, Potter.”

*

Draco did not wear the robes. 

He rummaged through his wardrobe until he found a pair that were designed to be worn open, and sourced a well-fitting pair of dark trousers and a reasonably well-fitting waistcoat to wear underneath them. And if a little magical assistance was required to get the final button of the waistcoat to pop securely into place — well, that was a secret between him, his wand and the mirror in his bedroom.

Harry gave him an appreciative look when he came downstairs, and Draco thrust his chin in the air, daring him to say anything. 

“You look wonderful,” was what his insufferable boyfriend chose to say, meaning Draco couldn’t even be haughtily annoyed with him. He allowed Harry to kiss him regardless and ignored the way Harry’s hand was resting on top of his tummy, wishing there wasn’t quite so much tummy there for it to rest on. 

“As do you,” Draco said, although this had never been called into question. Harry’s robes were a charcoal grey that somehow made his hair look more jet black and his eyes more emerald green than usual. His hair was a little messy, as always; Draco reached out and ran his fingers through it, attempting to persuade it into place, but it sprang right back up, cheerfully rebellious. 

Harry was giving him a soft look. Draco cleared his throat a little. “Thank you for doing this. I have no doubt it will be absolutely awful.”

“Draco,” Harry said sternly, “I’m looking forward to it. I think it’s a great idea. I’ve been saying we should do this for _months.”_

Draco tried not to sigh too dramatically, which went against every natural instinct of his. Harry was absurdly nice sometimes. Draco was nice to Astoria in the way that one ought to be nice to the person one used to be married to and was now co-parenting a child with, but Harry had the gall to genuinely _enjoy her company_ and think that she was _a good laugh._

And when Draco had learned, horror-struck, that Astoria had started dating Theodore Nott — who early-twenties Draco had moved in with, fucked, dated (in that order) and then left for Astoria — Harry had said cheerfully, “Well, I hope they’re happy together”. Like some kind of _maniac._ As if their happiness was the issue when Draco’s _pride_ was at stake.

Really, Draco had so few ex-partners that it seemed horribly bad manners for the two of them to pair off with each other.

“It is something we have to do,” Draco said, which was about as positive a feeling as he could muster towards it. “It’s unavoidable, it’s deeply weird, and if we get through it in one piece it will be a miracle.” 

“It’s not that weird. We’re all adults here.”

“Oh?” Draco arched an eyebrow. “If we break up, I’ll make a point of dating Ginevra, shall I? See how _not weird_ you think it is then.”

Harry grinned. “You think Ginny would go for you? You’re far too posh and highly-strung. Speaking of exes,” he said, while Draco spluttered indignantly, “yours will be here soon, and these potatoes aren’t going to cook themselves.”

He gave Draco another kiss and a pat on the tummy, and Draco understood himself dismissed.

*

When Harry returned from the vegetable patch at the bottom of the garden with a handful of fresh spinach for the salad, his boyfriend hastily shut the kitchen cupboard he’d been peering into.

“Salt and pepper?” he asked Harry innocently, as if he really was trying to set the table and just happened to be checking in the cupboard that contained a large amount of chocolate biscuits.

“In here.” Harry indicated the correct cupboard, biting back a smile. 

While Draco fussed about with salt and pepper, napkins and wine glasses, Harry put the finishing touches to that evening’s meal. He was rather pleased with his menu — mini goat’s cheese tarts, followed by roast chicken with a potato gratin, and a chocolate torte to finish. 

Harry cooked a lot these days and it was something he had come to enjoy — before, it had always been a perfunctory task, scraping together a quick meal for himself at the end of the day. Going even further back, it was something he’d been forced to do for the Dursleys, which didn’t exactly bring up a load of happy memories. But putting effort into making a meal for people you cared about and seeing them enjoy it was another thing entirely.

_“Hey.”_ He smacked Draco’s hand away from the Gruyère that he had grated for the potatoes. “Stop snacking.”

“I was doing no such thing,” declared Draco, most unconvincingly.

“You’ve been sneaking bits from my cooking all afternoon, don’t think I haven’t noticed. For a Slytherin, you’re really not that cunning.”

Draco was accustomed to being spoiled and pampered, something he had taken for granted as a child and had never really grown out of. Harry, as it turned out, was not going to be the one who put a stop to that.

Rolling his eyes, Harry cut him a piece of cheese. Draco swiped it up, looking haughty. Harry watched him with an amused smile, finding his gaze wandering lower, to the swell of his belly and the curve of his hips beneath his robes.

After Harry’s tactful suggestion earlier that day, the robes Draco was currently wearing fitted him pretty well, compared to the positively indecent ones he’d tried to wear at first. Not that Harry minded that in the slightest. Would have happily encouraged it, in fact, under normal circumstances. But he knew Draco was nervous about this meal with not one but two of his exes, and those robes probably wouldn’t have helped.

The way his waistcoat wrapped snugly around his belly was still a little distracting. It was nicely made, a fine wool in a navy check, the polished buttons looking a little strained over the widest part of his middle. But this was probably only distracting to Harry.

Truth be told, Harry loved that Draco was getting a little, well, _thicker._ There was a time when he’d been all angles and planes, though even at the beginning of their relationship he’d started getting a little softer, the sharp edges starting to blur. These days, his waistline was considerably wider, his belly rounder and heavier. His thighs jiggled a little. His hipbones were a distant memory. His arse filled out his trousers _very_ nicely. 

Harry hadn’t pointed any of this out, as such. Considering Draco’s heated denials about his ever-increasing waistline and ever-shrinking wardrobe, Harry wasn’t sure that he would take well to hearing the words out loud. But he certainly didn’t object to Harry lavishing attention on his softer parts. Seemed to rather enjoy it, in fact.

And he looked _good._ He’d always been ridiculously, impossibly hot, as far as Harry was concerned. But there was something even more attractive about this new, softer Draco. 

He looked comfortable, relaxed, like someone was taking care of him. Like Harry had his dinner ready for him on the table when he got home from the office, and listened to him natter about his potions while they ate, and portioned up the leftovers for him to take to work the next day. Like he joined in grumpily when Harry was baking with the kids, pretending he didn’t want to be involved but secretly loving it, high-fiving James when the cake rose successfully. Like he was safe and happy and didn’t have to worry about all the crap they’d had to deal with growing up, before and during and after the war.

The whole thought was so bloody _domestic_ that Harry was a little embarrassed at how arousing he found it.

The clock on the mantlepiece chimed. Right on cue, there was a knock at the front door. 

Draco glanced at Harry, looking mutinous.

“It’ll be fun,” Harry told him. “Be nice.”

Draco’s scowl melted away instantly as a small, blond someone rushed through the door and threw himself into Draco’s arms.

“Daddy!” 

Draco picked Scorpius up and swung him around until he was breathless with laughter. 

“I’ve missed you, Scorp,” he told him, brushing his blond hair out of his face.

“You saw me yesterday,” his son pointed out.

“Still missed you.”

Harry smiled politely at Draco’s ex-wife and the ex-boyfriend she was now coupled up with. Astoria was a petite witch with a mane of thick chestnut hair that practically had its own personality, bouncing on her shoulders and gleaming in the candlelight. Theodore was tall and wiry, with dark curling hair that was already peppered with grey. 

“Harry, darling, you look wonderful,” Astoria gushed, embracing him as though they were great friends, though in reality they had only met a handful of times. “Harry, Theodore. Theodore, Harry. Not that I really need to introduce you to _Harry Potter,_ obviously.”

“Good to see you again, Potter,” said Theodore warmly, as though they had ever exchanged two words during their years together at Hogwarts. 

Harry plastered on a smile and shook Theodore’s hand, aware he was putting on what Draco called his ‘Boy Who Lived bullshit’, where he pretended not to mind people being weird about him being a bit famous. 

“You’re looking well, Draco,” Theodore said neutrally, though no one missed the unsubtle glance he gave Draco’s midsection. Maybe Harry should have talked him out of wearing the waistcoat after all. 

Draco looked about as gracious as if Theodore had stabbed him in the eye with a quill. Thankfully he was able to excuse himself by apparating away with Scorpius, who was spending a few hours at Ginny’s house while his parents socialised. She’d been very amenable to it — Scorpius could be rather boisterous sometimes, but Albus adored him, and he was good at getting Al to come out of his shell. 

In Draco’s absence, an awkward silence fell upon the three of them he left behind. Harry scratched his ear. Astoria’s pearly smile began to falter. Theodore cleared his throat with the grace of a cat coughing up a hairball.

“Wine?” Harry asked, falling back on his role as a host. “Draco chose it, so it must be good.”

“He was always good with wine,” Astoria said gratefully, clearly as eager as he was to find something they could comfortably talk about. “He has excellent taste.”

“He does,” Theodore agreed, leaning forwards in a conspiratorial sort of way. “But, of course, the three of us are proof of that already.”

Astoria let out a startled laugh. Harry stifled a snort, and couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

Perhaps this evening might be rather fun after all.

*

Draco was determined not to eat too much at dinner — which, truth be told, he was inclined to do on occasion, particularly when Harry went all out with the menu like this. He knew Harry would tease him about it later, which would be infuriating, and Astoria and Theodore would make fun of him about it there and then, which would be simply unbearable.

But Harry’s food was always so damned delicious, and he had put so much effort into making dinner that it would be heartless to let any of it go to waste. 

Halfway through the main course, there was a certain amount of pressure building around his stomach. He tugged surreptitiously at the bottom of his waistcoat, with a cursory check that all the buttons were still in place. Not that they were at risk of popping off or any such nonsense. Far from it. The waistcoat fitted him perfectly well, after all. 

As he helped himself to a second — tastefully dainty — serving of potato gratin, Theodore commented, “The food is delicious, Harry.” With a certain glint in his eye, he added, “It certainly explains why Draco is looking so well-fed.”

Draco took a large sip of wine in lieu of responding. Or of ripping Theodore’s head off. 

“Oh, I’d forgotten how long it’s been since you last saw him,” Astoria cooed. “The weight really suits him, doesn’t it?”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb, praying for patience.

“You must be doing something right,” Theodore said to Harry. “I could barely get him to eat a thing I made.”

“That says less about me and more about the quality of your cooking,” Draco muttered.

“He was fussy when we first got together, too,” Harry said, as if confiding a secret about managing a difficult child, ignoring the furious looks Draco was giving him over the asparagus. “But I didn’t have much patience with that and he got over himself pretty quickly.”

“Oh, you clearly do a better job of managing him than I ever did,” Astoria trilled. “He requires a firm hand.”

“I try,” Harry beamed.

Draco set his fork down with a clatter and crossed his arms. He should have known this would happen. He had been a fool not to foresee it. 

Harry had _bonded_ with them. 

Typical.

Theodore leaned in, practically winking at Harry. “Does he still leave towels on the floor in the bathroom? I was always nagging him about that.”

“That’s the problem with growing up with house elves,” Astoria agreed. “Spoiled.”

“He’s better with the towels these days,” Harry said, glancing fondly at Draco and receiving a glower in return. “But why does he leave cups of tea everywhere?”

Theodore barked out a laugh. “One in every room he walks into —”

“Always half finished —” Astoria crowed.

“Never makes the bed in the morning —”

“Takes forever to get ready —” 

“So vain about his hair —”

“More drinks, I think,” Draco said through gritted teeth, standing up, pulling down the hem of his waistcoat and stalking towards the kitchen. “Harry, perhaps you could join me.”

Harry, absolute traitor that he was, added as he stood up, “He’s cute when he’s grumpy, isn’t he?” 

“Harry!”

In the kitchen, Draco uncorked a bottle of white Burgundy as though it had done him a personal wrong. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.

He had the nerve to say, “It’s going well.” 

“Hmm,” Draco grunted.

“They’re nice.”

“They are unbearable.”

“Not sure what that says for your taste, love. They’re trying to have fun, and you’re being miserable. If you don’t at least pretend to enjoy yourself, we’ll have to start being meaner to you. Bring up all the weird stuff you do in bed, that sort of thing. We haven’t even started on that.”

“Harry, if you _dare_ —”

“So you’ll play nice with your exes?”

“Yes, if you insist, I will _play nice.”_

Harry beamed at him. He rubbed his hands up and down Draco’s sides, his eyes lingering on Draco’s middle. “Did I mention how good you look? I like _this.”_ He ran a finger along the buttons of the waistcoat. “Big fan.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re trying to distract me with compliments, it won’t work.” 

Harry said innocently, “You haven’t worn it in a while.” 

If possible, Draco’s eyes narrowed still further. If that was meant to be a hint, it was not one he was going to pay any attention to. The waistcoat fitted him perfectly well. It certainly wasn’t feeling any tighter than it had before dinner. 

And if he was going to restrain himself more than usual when it came to dessert, that was an entirely unrelated matter.

*

Harry wondered fondly if Draco was making a point by taking an even more generous helping of the chocolate torte than he usually would. And then shamelessly diving into the cheeseboard when everyone else declared themselves far too stuffed to take another bite. Draco had never been able to resist a good bit of brie. 

He rested a hand on Draco’s leg under the table, enjoying the soft buzz of a happily full stomach and a glass of good wine. He let the conversation wash over him; Draco and Theodore were discussing Draco’s work in potions, and Theodore was clearly attempting to persuade him that a young apprentice in the form of Theodore’s cousin was exactly what his business needed. Harry could tell that Draco was positively repulsed at the idea, but he was at least pretending to be civil.

After their little chat in the kitchen, Draco was managing to be nicer to their guests. Sort of. He was marginally more of a good sport, anyway, which Harry was taking as a victory. 

He managed a grimace-like smile when Harry, Astoria and Theodore began comparing stories of their respective first dates with Draco and ranking their success. (Harry won, because their first date had involved Draco playing the piano for him. Astoria lost, because Draco’s mother had been present for most of theirs.)

He managed to merely look as though bird droppings had been splattered on his head when, upon asking “pass me the pepper, darling”, Theodore was the one who handed it to him. (Astoria almost snorted up her mouthful of wine; Harry wheezed with laughter until his stomach hurt.) 

He managed to look only mildly constipated when Astoria regaled them all with an anecdote about Draco getting sunburned on their honeymoon in Rome. And when Theodore provided a similar tale about a trip they had taken to Budapest. And when, after Draco tried to protest that he wasn’t _that_ pale, Harry pointed out that he had once achieved sunburn on an overcast September day in Abergavenny. 

By the time Astoria and Theodore were pulling on their cloaks to leave, Harry felt the evening had been almost a triumph. As close to a triumph as he could have hoped, anyway. Astoria assured them both it had been simply lovely; Theodore insisted they must do this again soon; Harry said earnestly there was nothing he would like more; and Draco managed to say “Very good, yes,” with the bare minimum of human emotion required. 

Once they were gone, some of the tension seemed to leave him. He slipped his arms around Harry’s waist from behind, pulling him flush against him. Harry inhaled sharply. From this angle, he could feel Draco’s belly pressing into his back. Not exactly shy and retiring at the best of times these days, right now it felt stubbornly round and present.

Draco muttered, “God, I’m glad that’s over.” 

Harry let his hand rest on top of Draco’s. “I had a _brilliant_ time.”

“I’m glad somebody did.”

“Don’t be miserable. They’re nice. We should spend more time with them. As it happens, I’m playing golf with Theodore next week.”

“Harry.” Draco let go of him, stepped out of the embrace, his grey eyes widening. “ _Harry._ You are not —” 

“Joking! I’m joking. No golf. Honestly.”

Draco looked so incensed that Harry couldn’t help leaning in to kiss him. He loved Draco when he was like this, grouchy and cynical but soft as anything underneath it all. Soft for Harry, anyway. He suspected Draco knew how he felt about it and played it up for him sometimes, which in itself was endearing as hell. 

Ten years ago, even five years ago, his life had looked so different from this. Looking forward, his younger self would never have imagined this was where he would end up. Quitting his job as an Auror to focus on raising the kids. Creating a better relationship with Ginny than they’d ever had when they were actually together. Draco sodding Malfoy praising his cooking and giving him kisses in the kitchen and stealing all the blankets in bed. 

“Sometimes, I think I’m very lucky to have you,” Draco grumbled. “Other times I’m not so sure.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a smile. “I love you too.”

He insisted on doing the washing up, even though it was Draco’s turn, on the basis that Draco had put up with his teasing all evening. And also because Draco had eaten so much that Harry wasn’t sure he could successfully stand upright for much longer. 

He left Draco reclining on the couch, looking lazy and full, one hand rubbing his stomach through his enticingly tight waistcoat.

*

Draco was in the same position on the couch when Harry returned from the kitchen, which he looked far too smug about, the git. Draco also saw his gaze flitting to the box of after-dinner chocolates they had dipped into with their guests, which Draco had possibly snacked on in his absence — though it had only been two or three truffles at the _most,_ it wasn’t as though the box was _empty,_ so Harry could keep his snarky thoughts to himself. 

Harry flopped down on the couch next to him, hands immediately going to Draco’s stomach, already unbuttoning the waistcoat with nimble fingers. “ _How_ are you still wearing this?” 

Draco wanted to protest, to preempt whatever cheeky — and unwarranted! — comment Harry was about to make about the fit of said waistcoat or the size of his waistline or the amount he had eaten at dinner. Or how his belly spread out into his lap once Harry undid the final button and it was removed from the confines of the waistcoat. 

But it was such a relief not to have that pressure on his gut and to feel like he could breathe properly again. And it was a little difficult to focus on being peevish when Harry’s hands were rubbing soothingly over his tight stomach, undoing Draco’s shirt buttons to reach the warm skin underneath. He had provided similar comfort on a couple of previous occasions when Draco had, perhaps, overdone it a little. Not that this happened _often._ He certainly didn’t make a _habit_ of overindulging. 

He glanced down at his belly, cresting out before him, round and full under Harry’s slim fingers. Perhaps he indulged a little more these days than he used to. 

“It’s possible I ate a little too much tonight,” Draco conceded.

Harry said nothing, although his eyebrows were sneaking up towards his hairline. 

“But I am _not_ getting fat.”

“Never said you were, love.” 

“Your eyebrows speak volumes,” Draco snapped. 

Harry’s hands were gentle on his midsection. He leaned in for a kiss, and Draco decidedly ignored the fact that he had to lean _over_ said midsection in order to meet his lips. “You’re beautiful. You know I think that.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to hear it more often.”

“You’re gorgeous, Draco. Now stop being so grumpy.”

Draco huffed a little, but, magnanimous, he permitted Harry to kiss the scowl off his face.

“I’m glad we haven’t got the kids tonight,” Harry admitted between kisses. “I’m very keen to drag you to bed.”

Draco’s dick was very on board with this plan, though the rest of him felt a little green at the thought of stairs just yet.

“Here might be better,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster, glancing at the couch. 

Harry’s eyebrows were now definitely hidden in his hair.

Draco insisted, “I am _not_ being lazy.”

Harry gave him a soft look. He slid down between Draco’s legs and deftly popped open the button of his trousers. He cupped Draco’s dick through the fabric and Draco stifled a groan, but his mouth went to Draco’s belly, trailing kisses along the soft skin, his tongue teasing at its sensitive underside.

On the one hand, Draco wasn’t thrilled about the reminder that there was an _underside_ to his stomach at all, that it pooched out into a little overhang rather than being the firm, flat plane it used to be. But it was difficult to fixate on that too much when Harry’s touch was making him groan like this, when Harry’s eyes on him were full of love and affection and _want._

“We can wait for a bit, if you prefer,” Harry suggested, looking positively deviant, running a finger over the red marks on Draco’s hips where his trousers had been digging in. “While I feed you the rest of those chocolates.” 

Bloody Potter. More chocolate was hardly going to improve his current situation. But the truffles, just out of reach, were awfully tempting.

Harry had already reached for the chocolates, climbing up onto Draco’s lap and getting comfortable, careful not to jostle his tummy. He looked pointedly between Draco and the half-empty box. “I can feed you what’s left of them, anyway.”

Draco set his hands at Harry’s waist, pulling him close. Harry gazed down at him, green eyes wide, pupils huge and dark. Draco rather thought he could stare into those eyes forever. God, he really did love this bloody Gryffindor. 

“You are an absolute nightmare, you know,” Draco informed him fondly.

“So you tell me, loudly and often.” Harry’s free hand rested on Draco’s bloated stomach, gentle, protective. With the other, he plucked a truffle from the box and looked at Draco expectantly, holding the chocolate to his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> So it turns out grumpy Draco is my new favourite thing to write. Thanks for reading!


End file.
